How Beauty Broke My Heart
by lycanus1
Summary: Where a loyal and wise wife isn't blinded or deceived by another's selfishness and duplicity ...


**Title:** How Beauty Broke My Heart  
**Author:** Lycanus  
**Fandom:** Troy  
**Character(s):** Andromache  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** Where a loyal and wise wife isn't blinded or deceived by another's selfishness and duplicity ...  
**Comments & Reviews**: positive comments welcomed.  
**Disclaimer:** Sadly, the Gods, Trojans and Greeks _aren't_ mine. Never were. _Never _will be. They are the stuff of legend and belong to no one.

**Warning:** _refers to the death of a hero._

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**How Beauty Broke My Heart**

_**Andromache's pov:**_

I knew as soon as they returned with her, that _she_ would be nothing but trouble. That she'd be the ruination of us all. That her beauty would destroy and eternally damn us all to Hades. To hell ...

Helen. Wife of Menelaus, King of Sparta. The fabled beauty rumoured to be the daughter of Zeus. A woman desired above all others. One who's fairness lay only on the surface. An allure that was fleeting. Transient. And ultimately meaningless.

Being a woman, I could see straight through her, unlike the poor foolish men who fell at her feet. Swooning like maids at the cloying sweetness of her voice and the brief, coy glances and smiles she would deign to bestow upon them. I knew exactly what she was. What she was doing. How she played them all off against each other like fools. And they were too blinded by her beauty to see it. Too deaf to listen. And too stupid to comprehend ...

Helen made it appear so easy ... The way she took them all in with her duplicitous act. With her false modesty and her "innocence." Of how fragile and vulnerable she was. Like hell was she fragile. If that conniving, deceitful little witch was "vulnerable," then by the gods I was an incarnation of Hercules himself ! She'd beguiled them all with her fairness ... her beauty ... and her "helplessness" ... Effortlessly deceived the men at court from the highest to the lowest rank. From the wisest, my father-in-law, King Priam; his youngest son, Paris - a selfish, spoilt and callow youth and the fool who brought her to Troy in the first place - down through the courtiers to the lowliest of servants. Even my shrewd, beloved husband, Hector was taken in and charmed by her, to my great dismay ... and my prince never suffered fools gladly, nor allowed himself to be easily duped.

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Yet, here I now stand on the battlements, cradling our infant son, Astyanax in my arms, feeling numb and bereft as I'm forced to endure the spectacle of my Hector ... the man whom I love more than life itself - a man of integrity, honour, decency and boundless courage - fall at the hand of the Myrmidon King, Achilles himself ... And I feel the first crack slowly appear on my fragile heart.

And that crack evolves and deepens at the sight of that Greek demon lashing my beloved's corpse behind his chariot ... The indignation and acute pain I feel at the lack of respect shown to a man who craved nothing but peace and a tranquil, yet strong alliance between both of our great nations. And it is a severe lack of respect. Of that I'm in no doubt. Every single jolt ... each bloody gash inflicted upon husband's body as he's dragged across that rocky track, I feel. Flinching imperceptibly, I endure it. As he does ... or rather, did.

I wish I could cry ... Express how I truly feel. Show my grief. Not hide my sorrow. My anguish. And scream against the injustice of it all. But I cannot. I dare not. For I am a member of the royal family. A princess of Troy. By marriage, if not by blood. And for a royal, maintaining dignity in public _is_ imperative. After all, a royal must _never_ lose face and reveal what they truly feel ... And that is why I stand here, with my arms tightly wrapped around our son, shielding him from prying eyes.

I must stand here, with the rest of Hector's kin. I cannot leave. Cannot flee to lick my wounds in private as I desperately long to do. To vent how I truly feel. I cannot weep for the one I love. My soul mate. Instead I'm forced to remain where I am. My face a frozen, unfeeling mask. My body rigid with tension as I fight not to give into my grief ... at least 'til I'm alone ... In my quarters. The rooms I share - no, shared - with my prince ... Forced to watch _her_ seek comfort in Priam's embrace. To watch and hear Helen cry crocodile tears when I'm the one who's lost the one thing which gave my life meaning. When I'm the one_ genuinely _grieving ...

And I hate Helen for it. I blame her and Paris entirely for my loss. That ultimately, their selfish, immoral behaviour has led to this. For Hector to tragically lose his life when he's in his prime. For making me a widow far too soon. Depriving our son of a father and Troy itself of a potentially great leader. I loathe them both for making me feel this way. For making me hate ... And I crave for them to suffer the same fate as I do. That they lose what they care for the most.

But most of all ? I hate the way that her "fairness" ruined my life and my son's ... How her beauty broke _my_ heart ...

**Finis**


End file.
